


Long Nights of 2020

by Urbanvix



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas 2020, F/M, M/M, Modern Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:21:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28331529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Urbanvix/pseuds/Urbanvix
Summary: December 25th 2020, 1amIn the midsts of another Pandemic, there are those who find this situation all too familiar.
Relationships: Geoffrey McCullum & Jonathan Reid, Geoffrey McCullum/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Long Nights of 2020

**Dec 25th 2020 , 1am**

It had been a rough year for Jacob McGuire, as it had been for all of mankind. With people kept away from each other by the pandemic, the usual havens of light and protection had gone. The pubs, the clubs, the social gatherings; all quiet, all dark. 

Humanity was a goddamn stubborn breed though. Gatherings went on, in dribs and drabs, conversations thrown out over broadband wires or down the phone lines. Light and laughter lived on, even as the streets were drained of all but the dregs of society. 

It was necessary, of course. The fear of disease kept distance between people – a space that evil could slip into, unobserved. _Things_ could prowl from house to house, or between the rooftops, bold and unafraid. Beasts hunted the abandoned subways in otherwise packed cities. Streets that had been closed to them by smartphones and surveillance were once again thoroughfares for the monsters. They preyed upon the reckless. They picked off the stragglers. 

Christmas was no exception. Say what you like about holy ghosts and the spirit of giving, it didn't matter a damn to them. 

At least, until Jacob McGuire came to town. Like some murderous Santa Claus, red to the elbows, checking off the names on his Naughty list. He kept on the move, going where Priwen sent him. It was a strategy that the Guard from the last Great Hunt would have recognised. That had been over a hundred years ago now. Geoffrey McCullum had retired and died, very officially, so there was no one left to notice. McGuire was his own man, independent, and a menace.  
  
Tonight, he’d been sent to Oxford. A nice two-up, one-down on the edge of the city centre. An enviable bit of real estate on the outside, but an abattoir on the inside. 

He didn't always have help but tonight, appropriately enough, he hadn't been alone. 

“Oi, Jacky-boy. Give us a hand?” Williams called, as he and Thompson came staggering in under the weight of another body. Male. Skal. One of the old breeds, mad and ravenous. 

_Jacky-Boy_. Jacob mused. It had been a while since he'd heard that one. Back during The Troubles, every Irishman was a Jacky-boy to the English. But that was...what? Twenty years ago? Something like. It probably wasn't even a slur anymore. 

“Sorry, mate.” Jacob smirked, turning so that the Priwen pair could see the knives he was cleaning. “I kill things. That's all I do.” 

Williams scowled, but didn't push. The blood staining the blades was almost black with corruption. That meant old bastards, nasty ones, moving so fast that you saw nothing but shadows until you saw teeth. No Guardsman could be ungrateful to someone who had spared them that fight.

Between them, Williams and Thompson slung the body onto the pyre with the others. After a moment's confusion, Williams went back to collect the head. 

“That's the last of them.” Thompson swept the dark curls from her ruddy cheeks. “Three for you. One for us. You do good work, McGuire.” 

“Well,” Jacob answered, turning back to his work. “Merry Christmas, I suppose.”

She snorted. “Any chance you'll stick around? We could do with the help.” 

“No.” He answered reluctantly. “I go where I'm needed. Don't stay anywhere longer than that.”

Thompson raised an eyebrow curiously. “Police, or something worse?”

Goddammit. Despite the years of practice, despite knowing that playing 'strong and silent' would have killed these questions before they were even conceived, he couldn't do it. He'd always been too fond of people. 

“ _Don't ask_.” He said easily, only pressing gently. “I don't talk about it.” 

Sure enough, she shrugged and laughed. A bright little laugh, edged with sadness. “Never fear. We all have our skeletons, right?”

“Aye.” He admitted. “One or two.” 

She went back to padding out the pyre. It was a much easier job these days. Back in the day, they'd carried tins of godawful stinking black tar or oil. Now, tight little bundles of paraffin-soaked straw were shrunk into airtight packages, ready to be stoked to a furnace heat with bright chemical squares. No orichalcum anymore. Not for the pyre. You didn't need it with what they could cook up in the lab. 

Williams came back with the head, stuffing it in under the body and standing well back. The whole lot went up with one good spark, leaping into white flames the instant they touched undead flesh. 

Job done. 

McGuire sheathed his knives, twitched the safety onto his crossbow and stood up. 

“You two need a lift back to the guardhouse?” He offered. 

***

“It doesn't really feel like Christmas.” Williams complained, when they dropped him off. “But, you know. Boris says it’s Tier four tomorrow.”  
  
“Just lockdown by another name.” McGuire grumbled.  
  
“Yeah. So, got to see them while I can.”

“Stay safe.” McGuire recommended, with a smile for the irony. Thompson hugged him and told him to kiss someone called 'Emily' for her, then waved him off. That would be his wife, probably. Or his daughter. Connections to the world, either way. Things McGuire didn't have. 

As if she'd followed his thoughts, Thompson asked. “You have anyone you're heading home to?” 

McGuire snorted. “No, lass. Not for a while now. You?”

“No. Not for a while.” She tilted her head. “Want to come back with me then?”

There were many things he could have said. 'You don't know me', for one. 'I'm dangerous', for another. Most appropriate might have been, 'you're Priwen, you should have been trained to never make the invitation until you can see if they can cross the threshold without it.'

Most damning might have been, 'you know for a fact I just took the heads off three skals without breaking a sweat. Ask yourself; why aren't you more wary of me? Ask yourself if you should be, and what it means that you aren't.'

But it had been a long year. So instead, he said, “Sure. Sounds good.”

****

Five minutes inside the door, and his shirt hung loose. Her brassiere had fallen away some time before she realised he'd undone it. As her lips teased down from his ear to his neck, her warm hands slipped under the hem of his trousers. 

“Nice.” She chuckled, finding him stiff and ready under her touch. “But you're still cold. Want to warm up first?”

“I promise you, lass.” He chuckled back. “I'll warm up soon enough.” 

It wasn't a lie. When he pulled her to him by her hips, her lips blossomed warmth against his. Her mouth poured heat into his body. Her pulse was red-hot against his tongue. By the time she had his belt loose and his trousers slipping down, his body temperature was almost matching hers. 

Reid would disapprove, of course. McGuire didn't care. He might be a monster, but he was also a man. 

She kissed him like her life depended on it, like feeling alive depended on it. Fuck the pandemic. Fuck the vampires. That was outside, out there, elsewhere. Not in here. Not now. 

Her lipstick had been red. Deep red. Like fresh blood. It was smeared around both their mouths now, like a warning she wasn't heeding. When he lifted her, easily, and tumbled her onto the bed, she only cried out gleefully, turning that red smear into a perfect 'o' of surprise. 

As she wiggled out of her trousers, her hips jerked to the rhythm of her thundering heart. His own body heard it and answered. His own heart leaped into stride beside hers as he bent to spread her legs and chase her scent up, up into her body with his tongue. That beat pounded against his mouth. His cock twitched to it. His jaw ached to it. A single rhythm. A consuming need.

 _Shit_. He thought distantly, somewhere beneath the need driving him. How long had it been? How long had he gone without? 

He began to pull back. He had to pull back. But then her body clenched together, pulsing in waves, binding and unwinding, releasing in a rush of heat that swelled her labia with blood. His own body answered with a different release; an unwelcome one. Another hunger was rising, dark and inevitable, beneath the human lust. 

He was certain then, absolutely certain, what she would see if he straightened up. This close, with his fangs singing down to crowd his mouth, he almost wanted her to see. She would recognise what he was, and he would have to silence her. He would have to give in. 

So he seized her, each hand wrapping one muscular buttock, and rolled her over. She whimpered, hollowing her back and tilting to meet him as his pulsing head pressed hard against her. Warm and ready, her body opened. Whimpering low, she wiggled back against him. 

One slow, penetrating thrust to wet his cock. A second to warn her of what was coming. Oh, but he had missed women. So much less time needed to adjust to the size of him. So much less need for restraint. 

She cried out on the third. She snatched a pillow and planted it beneath her, to bury her face in on the fourth. Then he stopped counting, only diving deep, deep into her as she whimpered and cried out to God, again and again. 

The monstrous need fell back, overwhelmed by everything in him that was simply male. Even his fangs were forgotten; their prickling pleasure lost as he leaned back, rocking her onto him with one hand, burying his hunger in her body, in her heat. His awareness was consumed by the part of him that was deep within her, caring only for the twist and pulse of the muscles inside her. 

Her arms were rigid, pushing her back hard against him. When, at last, that tension rippled up to her shoulders and down through her back, he felt it. He felt it, turned his face to the ceiling and finally, finally let go. 

All the strain of so many long nights seemed to burst apart. All the pain, the guilt, the loneliness burst out and ran free, melted and spilled away from that shuddering orgasm. And, breaking in the wave, curling around her, Jacob McGuire had no thoughts at all. 

But Geoffrey McCullum did. It just... took him a while to put it into words. 

Once he had, he glanced around, peering through the thin walls, seeing what he'd already known was there. 

“Do you...” He asked, as casually as he could. “Have a housemate?” 

****

Of course, Thompson had a housemate. A nice girl called Kayleigh. She wasn't Priwen, nor really even aware of the monsters that might come knocking at the door. 

No surprise then, that she had let him let him in. 

“I'm a work colleague.” The vampire lied, easily, when Thompson asked. It nodded in Jacob's general direction. “Of his.” 

They had come downstairs to find Kayleigh, still in her pyjamas, making two cups of coffee. One for herself, and another for the guest. She was acting as though this was normal. It was 4am. 

“No.” Jacob growled, ignoring the confused look Thompson shot him. “You're bloody well not.”

“But I am.” The vampire gestured lazily, sharing a smile that only Jacob could have understood. “A consultant, as I recall.”

“Not for a bloody while.” Jacob grumbled, then said more affably. “Kayleigh, Tho-,” He faltered, realising he had no fucking clue what her first name was. “Thompson. I don't mean to be an arse, but I'm going to be. _Would you mind giving us the room_?” 

It had been a gentle nudge, but Kayleigh bent around it. She smiled sweetly and set the milk down, muttering something about needing to get back to bed. Thompson resisted though, too wary to be so easily led. Catching his eye, she mouthed 'Priwen?'

He shook his head and sighed. “No, not Priwen.” He met the vampire's eye, trying to silently convey the many and complicated ways in which he was going to suffer for this. When the vampire only smiled, Jacob gave up. “He's my bloody husband.” 

***

“It's not like that.” He promised Thompson. “He doesn't get any bloody say about what I do with myself, especially when he up and disappears for a year.”

“I'm a doctor, Geof-” Reid started, before he was cut off. 

“It's Jacob, to you, you fucker.” 

“Oh.” Reid said, understanding dawning and finally denting the smug look on his face. “I'm sorry, Jacob.” His lips tightened, “I've been busy. I'm... particularly experienced with this sort of disease. I was needed.”

Geoffrey rolled his eyes, letting them rest on Thompson a little longer than was necessary. Geoffrey did not like pushing people around. It felt too much like using them, like one more step down a bad road. Reid, on the other hand, had gotten bloody good at it.

He took the hint. 

“Ms Thompson,” He said easily, rolling out the sweet baritone. “I must apologize. I misread the situation and seem to have barged in where I thought I was welcome. But I believe I owe some explanation to Jacob, privately. _Would you please give us the room? You can go to sleep if you like – I promise we will leave nothing awry_.”

Whether he had nudged her, or simply sweetened her with his words, it worked. This time, she left, with only the briefest glance to 'Jacob' to make her feelings clear. 

Geoffrey strode across the room, tugged out a chair opposite, and sat heavily. “Well?” 

“I didn't realise that you would feel-” Reid began. 

“Not that.” Geoffrey growled. “Last I knew, you were heading into China to find out if it was our old friend. Then nothing. For a bloody year. So, was it?” 

“Oh.” Reid stuttered. God, it was always good to throw him off balance. It didn't happen often. “The Queen of Blood might have used it, but once the local Ekons were forewarned it didn't seem likely it would go unnoticed. As a matter of necessity, they control one another very closely. So I left it in their hands, along with my contact details. I think,” His brow furrowed, “I think they're more likely to simply kill anyone who succumbs, however.” 

“And then?” 

“And then,” He glanced away, which Geoffrey could read like a book. Reid might have only _just_ realised he'd fucked up, but he did realise it. “I was caught up, assisting the research effort.” 

“You complete bastard.” Geoffrey shook his head, uncertain whether to feel pride or wrath. “Here I've been sneaking some of my best people into China to chase it up, and you've been here the whole bloody time. You're the reason there's a vaccine so soon, aren't you?” 

“No.” Reid snapped, with surprising firmness. “There were hundreds of medical personnel working around the clock. Thousands of volunteers. And the kind of funding that cancer research has only dreamed of.”

“Sure.” Geoffrey folded his arms, “But, also, you.” 

“I helped.” Reid admitted, “But I was only one of many. I … assumed that's why you had come to Oxford.” 

“I didn't know you were here. Unsurprisingly,” Geoffrey growled, “I don't like telling Priwen to keep an eye out for you.”

“I assumed...” Reid trailed off. “Well, I've seen a few. I assumed you were deliberately sending the less competent ones here.” 

It was Geoffrey's turn to look aggrieved. “No, I think they're all like that now. Gone soft. I figured there was no point sitting on my thumbs fretting after you. So it seemed time for someone to turn up, get known and put things right.”

Reid quirked up an eyebrow. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Someone like Jacob?” 

“Jacob McGuire, thank you very much.” 

“Creative.” Reid flashed a smile. “And subtle.”

“Oh, go fuck yourself, beast.” 

Something hungry flickered in Reid's eyes; a little of the monster peeking through to whisper 'actually, I would rather....'

But as Reid's eyes flicked down, he seemed to catch himself and really look at Geoffrey. After a moment, he murmured gently. “You're hungry.” 

“Starving.” Geoffrey admitted. “I didn't dare feed too freely until I heard from you. Just in case the Blood Queen had something to do with this one, too.”

There it was, leaping up to haunt Reid's expression; all the guilt and the grief that came so naturally to his features. “Geoffrey. I'm so sorry. I thought...” 

“You thought what?” Geoffrey snapped, a moment before he caught where Reid's eyes had drifted. He was looking up through the floor, to whether the crimson stars of Thompson and Kayleigh pulsed gently in their beds. Comprehension made his voice sour, diving deep into that bass growl that was more beast than man. “Two of them, two of us. You thought I was inviting you over for dinner.” 

“I always know where you are, Geoffrey.” Reid admitted. “When you stopped so close by, it seemed like the most likely...” 

“Let me see you.” Geoffrey interrupted again. “Right the fuck now.”

For just a second, it looked like Reid would object. Then, he relented, folding his mask away with a mental effort. Pale skin became paler still, marked with veins and the scars that would never heal. His eyes were red, bathed in blood, edged in black. 

That wasn't important, however. Only one thing truly mattered; in the center of those eyes, the irises could have been dark and hungry pits. Instead, they were blue. Cold and inhuman, but blue. Reid might be a monster, just as Geoffrey was, but he hadn't lost himself to the Dragon. 

Not this time, at least. Not again.

“Alright.” Geoffrey sighed. Then, to make himself feel better, he added, “Fuck's sake.”

The table still separated them, but something had changed. A connection had come alive again. Something Geoffrey had been suppressing, subconsciously, as well as he could from his end. 

Speaking very low, Geoffrey admitted. “I wasn't fucking her to tease you into coming over, Reid. I was just fed up with being alone.” 

“So is half of the world right now.” Reid added regretfully, before a smile twisted his lips. “And, besides, that's not the only reason.” 

“Felt that did you?” Geoffrey growled, but with a hint of mischief. “Well, I knew you were here, soon as I felt that at the end.” 

If Reid could have blushed, he probably would have. “I was glad to see you, Geoffrey.” 

Gently, so as not to wake the girls, Geoffrey planted his fist on the table. “For the record, beast, this is not me forgiving you.”

“I know.”

“But I'm glad you're not infected and running mad, since it means not killing you, just yet.” 

“Thank you.” Reid reached across the table, slipping his lean fingers over Geoffrey's fist. The wedding band shone on his left hand. “My Hunter.”

Before Geoffrey could spit and swear back at that, Reid caught his cuff with the other hand and began to neatly unbutton it, drawing it back to expose his wrist. 

The hunger returned, gleaming in Reid's eyes as he purred, “You said that you were hungry.”

“I said I was 'starving', beast. It's been a hell of a year.”

“I know.” Reid whispered. His voice was low, and he was not only speaking aloud. The words travelled through the blood, whispering up in every unholy cell that had bound him to Reid over a century ago. A Maker speaking to their Progeny. A lover making a promise. Something to be believed in, and clung to, and relished. “But I promise that’s going to change. Starting now.” 

***

This Christmas, there was no mistletoe or carol singers. There were few frivolous gifts or warmth shared with strangers. But as the cups tumbled from the table, spilling cold coffee on the kitchen floor, Geoffrey didn't mind all that. Just this, right now, was enough to make it through.  
  
And when he realised just how thoroughly Reid was prepared to be punished for his little mistake, well, it could only get better.

**Author's Note:**

> This was initially written over 6 hours on Xmas day whilst getting increasingly drunk XD So thank you to my truly amazing Beta readers from the Pembroke Hospital Discord for catching spelling errors, the odd super-colloqualism I didn't realise made no sense outside of the UK, and grammar fumbles - especially Memento Mori who dealt with the first draft !
> 
> (Also, if I do indulge in the 'follow up' scene directly after this, it's probably Mori you have to thank/blame for putting the idea in my head ;) )
> 
> Thank you for reading & Merry Christmas, if appropriate <3


End file.
